Bulletproof Weeks
by mockingjayne
Summary: The longer their relationship lasted, the more intertwined their lives became, the threat of one of them not making it out of this twisted game she'd created for them all the more likely with each new clue revealed and subsequent chase. JanexKurt


The ricocheting of bullets echo off the walls, the empty stairwell magnifying their sound like symbols being clanked together right by her ears. The effect is deafening, and yet, she can still distinctly hear the lead hitting their target, the tumbling down the stairs with a loud grunt of pain hitting her deep in the core - a distinguishable sound she's sure won't likely leave her soon.

She turns, her hair, having grown out some, whips her in the face, before wrapping around her neck like a black noose, slowly relinquishing her ability to breathe. Her panic stricken face plays the part well, as she quickly forgets about the gun wielding man who'd fired the shots - having made his exit at the door above - and races down the stairs, her boots stomping with each footstep, syncopated with the beat of her heart, threatening to burst from her chest.

She'd been taught, or rather had the lesson beaten into her, years ago to separate the personal from the mission. Like a switch turning off a light, she was meant to shut off her emotions, to put the mission above everything else, even if that meant sacrificing the ones you loved the most. It was a skill she'd often prided herself on - her stubbornness, or rather dedication to completing a job. It had served her well during her training, she'd advanced quickly. But the more memories that came back from her time before, the more she began to understand _why_ it had been so easy for her to abandon everything, to put the mission first. because back then, she had had no one. at least not like she did now.

Sprinting forward, her hand gripping the railing like a lifeline, his body resting haphazardly against the railing, his lower half sprawled out on the ground, his face contorted into a look of pain she'd never seen before. Her mind races straight to worst case scenarios of blood loss and ambulances, hospitals and tears screeching to the forefront of her mind - the good soldier, the mastermind having dissipated once the bullets embedded themselves into him, her training having flown right out the window at the threat of his safety being compromised.

This morning had been routine. And perhaps that's what had been wrong, that she was now taking for granted the things she'd never had before.

He'd woken her up, his stubble scratching her into consciousness. She'd made herself smaller, snuggling up against him, not wanting to leave the warmth of their bed. He'd whispered promises of coffee and a surprise for later, luring her out of her cocoon.

The ride to the office had been the same as always, their endless fight over control of the radio had ultimately gone to her in round one, as it did most mornings. He claimed she had several different smiles, all of which he could distinguish by her mood from the slight twitch to the full watt, and she knew exactly when to use them to her advantage. She always rolled her eyes when he brought it up, and that morning had been no different when he'd called foul play. She was convinced that it was only fair, given that she was still unable to hide the shy smile with accompanying blush when he gave her _that_ look while teasing her - the look that said, " _I'd give you anything, you are everything"_ his eyes all but shimmering with want.

She'd kissed him before they'd gotten out of the car and headed into work. The taste of mint from his toothpaste had still been lingering on his lips, having brought another smile to her face as she pulled away. The kiss had been quick, like a habit, the kind that you expect to have plenty more of.

"Don't think I've forgotten about that surprise you promised me," she'd taunted out to him as they parted ways in the hallway.

"I would't dream of it," he'd teased back.

Just several hours later, and they were climbing the steps of an industrial building, hot on the trail of a man whose whereabouts had been revealed to them thanks to a densely buried tattoo on her left forearm.

The team had split up into twos, an order given out by him, choosing to take her with him, a move she'd long since figured out gave him peace of mind to know she was safe - if they were split, his focus was split.

But as she makes her way to him, almost in slow motion, her feet unable to move fast enough, she can't help but think that it had been her fault - the ever present fear that a clue on her body, one that she'd put there herself, was going to be the reason that he was taken from her.

"Kurt," she squeaks out, her voice not quite able to articulate her thoughts as she finally makes it to the landing. She rips open the light blue FBI jacket he's put on today, the colder months threatening to freeze them to the bone lately. The zipper can't seem to slide down fast enough, each tooth seemingly clinging too tightly together in her fight to separate them. At the last rung, she's slides her hands inside, a sigh of relief released that he'd been wearing his vest, but the panic quickly settles in again as she slides her hand over the material, until her hand makes contact with three indentions, forming a triangle, embedded with bullets, and laced with the bitter taste of blood in her mouth, her lip having taking the beating of her nerves.

"Just…the…vest…" he makes out.

Her hand reaches out, cradling the side of his stubbled face, her thumb tracing the outline of his cheekbone. She chokes back a sob, as she nods against him. "Yeah," she half-laughs, half-sobs into him, before placing a kiss on his temple, taking a moment to regain her composure, the imminent threat of death not knocking on anyone's door today, at least for now.

"Can you stand?" she asks, the fall from the stairs likely causing more discomfort to him than the actual catalyst for his grunts an unintelligible sound, determined to regain his footing. She hoists him up, her small frame taking on most of his weight.

"I got it, Jane. I'm okay," he stubbornly huffs, frustration coming off of him in heaps.

But with every expounded breath coming out of him, a wave of guilt threatens to take ahold of her and drag her out to a sea of depression.

She just nods, hovering beside him, incase he needs her assistance, as they head out.

xxxxx

She sits on a bench in front of her locker, her elbows resting on her knees, head buried in her hands, the events of the day replaying over and over in her mind. The image of Kurt lying helplessly on the ground seems to have been tattooed on the inside of her eyelids, adding to the collection. The dark, violent what-if circles her mind, her pleas to abandon the mission months ago reverberate through her, the repercussions of continuing on with an unknown plan growing with each clue they choose to follow.

He'd long since forgiven her for her indiscretions when it came to the truth of that night, but it didn't change the circumstances. The stakes were still high, the danger of what they were choosing to blindly follow rearing it's ugly head today with a close call.

"Hey," he quietly says, approaching her slowly.

Her hands slip from her face, her head tilting to the side to look at him. "Hey," she whisper back.

He comes to stand in front of her, and she stares up at him, tears threatening to fall, before grabbing his shirt, and pushing it up, his stomach jumping at the cold air hitting his skin. Her hands run over the smooth skin, grazing over the forming bruises.

"I'm fine, Jane," he attempts to dispel her worry, gripping her hand, stilling its motion over his skin.

She looks down, her words lost in the silence.

"I almost lost you today," she finally makes out.

"Hey, I'm right here," he moves to sit down next to her, trying to mask the grimace taking on his face as he bends, his joints screaming out in pain.

He pulls her into his side, hips touching, as she comes to rest her head on his shoulder, his arm wrapping around her.

"I don't want to do this anymore," she says while staring ahead, his breath catching at her admission, causing a wince of pain.

"I just..," she continues with a sigh. "I don't care what my plan was before. It's not worth it if I end up losing you," her last words coming out with a tinge of desperation, her head lifting from his shoulder, meeting his eyes.

Her honesty constantly astonishing him, her ability to express her fears, her feelings towards him - It was a trait she seemed to inherently have. Even when they were butting heads, and he found new ways to talk around the issue or cover his feelings with anger and control, she'd cut through the bullshit, getting to the heart of the problem. If she missed him, she told him. If she was worried about him, she let him know.

"I told you I knew the risks…"

"I know, but…the longer it goes on, the greater the risk," she says with a tearful lilt. Because that was always the problem, never that the mission was dangerous, they knew that, they'd always known that. It was their emotional attachment. The longer their relationship lasted, the more intertwined their lives became, the threat of one of them not making it out of this twisted game she'd created for them all the more likely with each new clue revealed and subsequent chase. She still has no idea what the endgame is for her plan but she can't imagine that even with all her planning, late nights spent pouring over tattoo designs and personal details, that she'd have anticipated _this_.

She'd given up everything, or at least what had been everything back then, for the cause, and now she was ready to give up the entire cause for everything, _everyone_ , she'd gained. And sometimes she can't help but wonder if maybe that had been her intention, that she'd seen that coming, that the tattoos weren't the point at all, at least not for her.

As she sits on the bench, tearfully pleading with the man they're still not sure was part of her past, she can't help but continue to fight so that he's present in her future.

"Jane," he gives a big sigh. "I don't know what's going to happen," he grabs her hand, lacing their fingers like the stubborn zipper from earlier. "But I know you. And the people we've saved, these tattoos did that. It's worth the risk right now."

She looks away, because that's always where their argument goes, and she ultimately ends up feeling selfish because she'd put her feelings, her needs, above the safety of others. And the cycle of guilt continues.

They sit in silence for a moment, the charged room settling over them. Her mind refusing to shut up, internally berating herself for putting them in a cycle she's unable to break. It's the rustling next to her that ultimately snaps her back to the present.

He's rolling the contents of his hand through his fingers, the light catching glimpses of whatever it is, reflecting a shimmering effect, casting shapes onto the lockers.

He looks up, catching her off guard, causing her to avert her eyes like she hadn't seen what he was doing, not that she even knew exactly _what_ he was doing.

"I, umm, I told you I wouldn't forget about that surprise I promised you," he nervously makes out. She finds her eyes drifting from his lips to his hands, equal parts confused and curious what could possibly be making him this anxious. She'd discovered a lot about him in the past months, like how his favorite position to sleep in was on his stomach, his arm draped around her stomach or how he liked his showers scalding hot but would gladly let the water run cold if she found ways to distract him or the one slight dimple on his left cheek that only makes an appearance when she'd done something particularly funny, and her losing battle to not reach out and trace the indention herself…every single time.

But this, this nervous, almost shy man in front of her, that was new.

He instructs her to turn around, her back facing him, as he reaches around her, the cool touch of metal around her neck rests easily. Upon securing its clasp, his fingertips follow over the delicate chain, fluttering just below the birds in flight. Leaning forward, she can feel his breath gracing over her, sending a chill down her spine, before he places a soft kiss at the base of her neck.

Reaching up, she grasps the emerald connecting the endless circle, tracing the soft edges of the gem. The necklace is simple, not at all flashy, she has enough attention drawn to her already, the silver blending in with the outline of her tattoos, the one flash of color resembling that of her eyes.

"Kurt…it's…umm, I just…I…what's it for?" She asks, inching around to face him.

He lets out a nervous laugh, laced with the fear of rejection.

"Well I know that you don't exactly have a birthday, not really, and I thought today would be as good as any to celebrate you," he finishes, his eyes flicking between the necklace and her eyes.

"What's today?" she whispers, her fingers never leaving the stone, already adopting a new habit.

"It's, well, it's the anniversary of the day you uhh, were found in Times Square." His hand reaches up to grab the back of his neck, as if he's suddenly been handed the weight of the world.

Her face cracks, a watery, crooked smile makes its way to her lips. "So we're celebrating the day I was birthed from a bag?"

He barks out a laugh, his smile spreading wide enough for that dimple to make it's way to his cheek, and this time she doesn't hesitate to lean forward, bringing her thumb to dip into its groove.

"Yeah, I guess we are," he says, once he sobers a bit. Their foreheads having come to rest against each other, the weight of today falling over them.

"Thank you," she murmurs, her lips so close to his own, he can feel them moving.

"We're gonna be okay," he reassuringly mutters back.

"Hmm," she hums, wanting to believe so badly that everything was going to turn out alright. That somehow they had been serendipitously brought together, despite her previous plan in another life.

"Happy Birthday, Janie."

xxxx

Thank you! I don't even know what this is. All I had was an image of Kurt being shot, and it being Jane's birthday, and somehow this is what came out of it.

I appreciate you guys reading and reviewing and encouraging me to continue posting the ramblings in my head, because without it, I would've stopped a while ago.


End file.
